


The Pretty Ones

by LaFlashdrive



Series: She Was My Mentor [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaFlashdrive/pseuds/LaFlashdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anya is Lexa's first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pretty Ones

From the moment you are chosen as Commander and marched into Polis to greet your people for the first time, you have boys brave enough to approach you. They compliment you on the braid pattern Indra laced into your hair or the robes your mother was instructed to sew for you before you were taken away from her, but their praise is spit from forked, serpentine tongues and accompanied by twinkles in their eyes brighter than the stars, and you know instantly that their light is artificial. 

You do not yet understand words like “treason” or “coup d’etat.” You do not understand what these boys are trying to do. But you understand that you do not trust them and that they should face consequences for the thoughts behind their skulls. You want to reprimand them yourself, but more often than not their mothers emerge from the crowd behind them, pull on the wings of their ears and scold them with words like “respect” and “Heda” and you smile when those same boys who believed themselves brave when they first approached you suddenly look so guilty and weak as they are escorted away from you. 

There are girls who do the same thing.

You are not as quick to throw away your trust of them.

You are only eleven, but you have already felt for years now that girls do have the power to shine brighter than the stars. When you see that same cosmic sparkle in the eyes of a pretty, feminine face, you believe that there are no laws in the universe preventing girls from being as heavenly as they appear. You think they are wonderful. You think they are true. But still, you know better. Instinct tells you that they are not, and you cannot trust them any more than you can trust their male counterparts. 

They like you because you are the Heda, not because you are you. 

You believe you are the only one who recognizes these girls for their intentions – even if it does take you a moment to do so. Their mothers do not emerge from the crowd. Their parents do not reprimand them. The adults around you are as unsuspecting as you are in the first few moments you see them, and it hurts you when you are forced to turn away from them of your own accord. Each time you dismiss them you are afraid that someday you will not have the willpower to do so, and that scares you more than they thought of what would happen if you were to allow any of them into your personal life. 

///

It is two years later and you have already been to Polis many times by now. You have been to every city in your kingdom many times. 

Your first two years as Heda are introductory. The sight of a girl with her head held high on the old Commander’s steed and a blood red sash draped across her chest benefits the people psychologically more than that same thirteen year old would benefit them militarily, locked up in a war room plotting battles that don’t exist yet. 

The people love you, and you like travelling. You would never have been able to see this much of the world if you had remained at home with your seamstress mother and your fisherman father. You would be stuck in your tent stabbing needles through thread instead of blades through hearts, and while this life is more dangerous, you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. 

It is both easier and more difficult for you to turn away girls now. The older you get, the more brave they become and no one seems to understand your struggle to cast your suitors away until one day a girl is more than just bold, she is persistent. She follows you through her village, and you can’t seem to get her out of her sight any more successfully than you can get yourself out of hers. She is easy to spot, taller than you by several inches, though you know it is only because she is older than you. You will be her height in no time, your generals tell you, but for now you are small in comparison and if you were anyone else you know you would feel weak. You are frustrated and tired from marching through the woods all day, and even though this girl is pretty on the outside, you distrust her more than you have distrusted almost everyone else who has approached you with malintent. 

You want to tell her off yourself because you are the Commander and she would be forced to listen to you, but your voice is hoarse from all your greetings and you came to this town in peace, not to start a fight with an innocent bystander. You think about saying something to Indra or Gustus or another one of your guards who could no doubt find a way to subtlety escort the girl out of the crowd at your insistence, but you feel like they would tell you to be polite, would not understand why you were uncomfortable around a mere teenage girl.

But then you turn your head and Anya is by your side. She is here because she is training to be a general, because she is going to be in charge of these woods and these people soon and because she was your mentor before you were chosen and you trust her. Your entire clan trusts her. And when you tilt your head up to meet her eye, she is already looking down at you and you can tell. _She knows._

“ _Ste yuj,_ ” she whispers, and you nod your head once, eyes wide.

Anya stays by your side for the duration of the parade. She is supposed to be in the middle of the train, behind your generals and in front of your army, but you prefer her here and you are not going to tell her to move back into position, even if it would be proper of you to do so. She protects you the way she always has, stands between you and this girl and scares her off with no more than a fierce look when she gets too near. None of your suitors are courageous enough to approach you with Anya by your side. 

You wonder how she does it so easily, how this fifteen year old girl of all the warriors in your army is able to frighten them more easily than anyone else. 

Then you realize what is happening: These people think she is the one you are with, that they do not have a chance to be your partner because she is the one you have chosen.

You would, you think. Choose her over the others.

You are thankful for Anya and you always have been. She is your best friend and your mentor, and the thought of her by your side for the rest of both of your numbered days is not unappealing. It will be that way, in some way or another. If nothing else, she will be the general of your clan, the seat beside you in all of your war meetings. 

It would not kill you, though, if she were more.

You’ve kind of figured out by now that you are more attracted to women than men, and Anya is not hard on the eyes. You have no reason to turn her away like the rest of these girls. You trust her. You like her.

You thank her that night, when the politics are tossed aside for the evening and celebration has trumped your warriors’ lists of priorities. You’re tired because you’ve been up for more hours than you can count and you do not drink or revel the same way your people do, both because you are too young and because it is irresponsible for a Heda to lose her mind in alcohol. Anya is old enough now that she could join the others by the campfire, eat the feast and drink the moonshine this village’s elders have offered you all, but she doesn’t want to, you don’t think. It doesn’t matter whether she does or not though because she has guard duty tonight. She is the one designated to look after you because she is not quite a general yet and her higher ups have demanded it of her, can demote the duty of watching over you just because they are older and Anya has no grounds to protest. She does not seem to mind, though. You are not an inconvenience to her, a distraction from drinking and partying like you would be to the rest of your warriors. She is your friend, and when she is by your side it is not to babysit you. 

You will never sleep with the roar of the celebration, but you need to try because tomorrow you are travelling again, will end up in another village where you will give another speech and bless another graveyard and talk to more people you do not know and do not really want to meet. The only refuge you have from the crowd is your tent. Its thin leather walls do little to block out the sound of their voices, of the murmur of slurred, quick Trigedasleng, but it helps, so you take what you can get. Anya follows you inside the tent without your insistence. Normally your guards would wait outside, let you rest in solitude, but Anya is your friend and you would have invited her in even if she had not come of her own accord. 

It’s late and you have no more duties for the night, so you lay down, even though you know you will not be able to sleep well or any time soon. You will be able to relax, at least, dressed down in your sleep clothes on your furs. It is comfortable, or as comfortable as you are going to get in a strange town that you are not able to call home. Nowhere has felt like home for the last two years, though. Not even Polis has grown on you yet.

Anya settles herself into your chair recklessly. It is sacrilege for anyone other than the Heda to don the Commander’s throne, and she could be killed for it, for treason, but you do not tell her to get off. You pretend you do not notice. She knows that you do though, can tell that you simply just don't care. Her rebelliousness makes you smile. You want to be like her someday. You want to be that brave.

You are both quiet for a moment, you thinking, she waiting to see if you will fall asleep so that she does not disturb you with her words. When she realizes that the crowd is too loud, that you cannot properly rest, she talks. Her voice comes out in calm English, a welcome change from how much rapid, conversational Trigedasleng you have spoken in the village today.

“I’m surprised that girl didn’t try to follow you into your tent,” she starts, voice low as if the girl in question could hear her now, was waiting just outside the front flaps of the tent for the right moment to barge in. 

Even though it takes you a moment to translate the words in your head, once you understand what the sentence means it doesn’t take you long to know who Anya is talking about. There was more than one of them. There are always more than one of them. But the girl she is speaking of had stood out. 

You aren’t quite sure what to say about it, though. Anya understands you, but you do not quite as well understand yourself. Anya can tell you are listening, though, and that is all she needs to continue. 

“You have to be careful, Heda. Not everyone can be trusted. Not even the pretty ones. _Especially_ not the pretty ones.”

Anya’s words are spoken like wisdom because they are. Everyone tells you that you are mature for your age, that you hold yourself with the 100 years your spirit has been Commander, but you are a thirteen year old girl and Anya seems so much older than you, even though two years is not really that much of an age difference. She is wise. She is strong. She is a child prodigy like you are, and you still aren’t sure why she wasn’t in that arena with you when you were fighting to become Commander. She could have killed you back then. Maybe not now, not with the training you’ve received from her and Indra and Gustus in the last several years, but back then Anya could have slit your throat with ease. She could have all of this. She could be you.

You look at her carefully, think of how she has her whole life ahead of her and how she has so much room to grow, so much time to achieve her dreams. She is happy and she is carefree and she is young in a way that you are not. 

Maybe it is best that you are the Commander. Maybe you saved her from this. Your job is to suffer for your people after all, and if you have to sacrifice yourself for anyone, you are glad it is her.

You don’t really consider your words when you talk, both because if you think too much about English you will strain your head and because Anya is someone you do not have to impress the way you have to impress your other generals. Your words come out easily, like Anya would say them because she is better at English than you, and you think the joke you make is something she would appreciate, too. “Should I not have let you follow me into my tent then?”

She laughs and smiles, so you smile back, and you are glad that she knows it is a joke, does not sense the anxiety that stirs in your gut when you think about what the words mean. You stare across the room at her on your throne and your eye contact does not waver as she speaks.

“Are you hitting on me, Commander?” 

Anya is teasing you, but you cannot help but swallow hard and let your eyes go wide. You hadn’t expected her to banter back. You should have.

Again, you do not know what to say.

Anya is quiet for a moment.

“You like girls.” When she says it, it isn't a question, but it isn’t a fact you are willing to face. You are the Heda and you have more important things you should be worrying about than how pretty girls’ hair looks in the sunlight or how even the female warriors of your clan seem so much softer and more gentle than the men. You feel guilty and you know should be more concerned with the thousands of people who depend on you for food, for protection, for hope, but sometimes you cannot help but get distracted. You don’t know how to admit that to Anya, but you don’t know how to deny it either.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she comforts, sensing your guilt. “The Heda is allowed to take a partner. A commander has more reason to love than anyone. You are required to care about every single one of your people." She pauses for a moment, choosing her message. “Just make sure you choose the right person to care about the most.”

You think about nodding because you agree, because you recognize how important it is to have someone competent and trustworthy on the throne beside you, but you cannot bear to make it seem like these girls that approach you on your visits to their cities are potential partners in love. They are not. 

“I don’t feel that way about them,” you say. “All those girls that I’ve met. I do not love them. It is… something else.” 

Anya nods her head, calmer about the subject than you think you will ever be. “It is natural to be attracted to them, Heda. Just don’t give in to the desire. Not with them.” 

“Who then?” you ask, because you have not found a replacement for them, cannot think of someone you would ever find it acceptable to explore those feelings with. 

Anya shrugs. “Someone you love, I guess.” She stops for a beat then continues. “Or just someone you trust. That’s the only experience I have with it.” 

You remember how popular Anya was amongst the girls in your village before you stopped being her second and before she started being Indra’s. You have also seen her with women in your guard. Anya has been with plenty of girls, but you know she has not loved any of them. If she had fallen in love with any of the girls in the village, she would not have joined the army. If she had fallen in love with any of the women in your guard, she would not be training to be a general. All those girls meant nothing to her, but you understand why she was with them. You understand why she wanted the sex.

You are not ready for that, though. 

“What's it like to kiss a girl?” you ask because you are curious and you cannot help and you can’t go to anyone besides Anya with your questions. After today you know she gets it, know she understands.

“It’s nice,” Anya says simply. “The more you like someone, the better it is.”

This is a comfort to you. You do not like those girls in the villages, and it eases your mind to know that if you were to give in to your urges to talk to them, to be with them, you would not enjoy it the way you think you would. That small piece of information is enough to fuel your self-control. You think that as long as you remember that, that you can resist the temptation for a while.

With them, anyway. 

"I like you," you tell Anya, and you aren't sure where the words come from. She seems just as thrown off as you do. Her spine straightens against the back of your throne and you are afraid that you have found a way to upset her even though you did not think you ever would be able to.

She glances away from you for a moment to think, so you turn your own head, rest it against the pillow as if you are ready for sleep. It is an effort to hide the blush creeping up your neck, to conceal just how embarrassed you feel about your confession, but Anya does not let you disappear into the furs. You hear her rise from the chair, and she walks over to your bed, sits where you are lying. You try closing your eyes, but you can tell that she is still looking at you, so you open them again. You have been instructed many times to face your fears. You will not conquer them otherwise, and fear is one of many weaknesses a Commander cannot afford to have. You swallow deeply before she speaks to you. 

"Have you thought about kissing me?" she asks seriously.

"No," you answer honestly, because you haven't, not until now.

"Then you do not like me in the right way," she says simply.

"I like you," you insist, meeting her eyes and sitting up beside her. 

You don't know why you are so persistent because she's right, you do not feel for her in the way she is describing, do not love her the way you believe you may be capable of loving someone else, but you look up to her and you admire her and now that you are thinking about kissing her you can't seem to stop yourself from imagining it, from playing out the fantasy in your head and praying for it to be reality. It is a selfish desire, the kind you have not caved to since you were chosen as Commander, but you are just a girl and you deserve to act on impulse every once in a while, no matter how many times you are instructed to think through every decision before you make it.

You feel you will do anything if it means Anya will kiss you. 

Anya looks at you like she knows this. 

"You think it would be a good idea for the commander to kiss one of her generals?" she accuses.

"You are not my general yet," you dismiss.

"No," she agrees, "But you were my second. How responsible is it for a first to kiss her second?"

You think for a moment. “Very responsible if the second has no one else to kiss and her first does not want to see her with someone unworthy,” you argue.

"You are relentless, Commander." She smiles at you like it is a compliment and you take it as one because it is. You are ruthless. You would not be a good leader if you weren't.

"So does that mean you'll give in and kiss me?"

Her laugh is hearty. It makes you chuckle, and you don't remember the last time you genuinely let yourself loose like that. 

"You know the more you challenge me the less likely I am to give up and kiss you, right?"

You think for a moment, not letting yourself frown, even though pouting is your initial reaction. "What if I tell you _not_ to kiss me?" you question. "Will you do it then?"

She laughs again, then looks at you for a moment, her eyes first locked onto yours then cast downwards to what you can only assume is your lips. You glance down at hers, too, forgetting that she's your friend, that the two of you are doing nothing more than joking around right now. You really want to kiss her, and you realize for the first time just how close she is, how easy it would be for you to lean over and press your lips against hers.

She is still staring at your mouth, and the longer she does the more brave you become, the easier it is for you to think she isn't staring at you, but just your lips, just the part of you that's the same part of her your mind is preoccupied with too. It lets you think that maybe, just maybe, you both want the same thing.

"You really want to kiss me, Commander?" she asks, looking back up at your eyes again for your answer in them.

You nod rather than speak because you aren't sure your lips can function in any other way than press themselves against Anya's right now. You watch how her mouth opens and closes around her words in a trance. You are impressed by how much calmer, how much more in control of herself she is than you.

The nod you produce is good enough for her, and she smiles. "Good," she says softly. "First rule of kissing: always double check that your partner wants to."

"What's the second rule?" you ask, because if there's a first, there's a second and the more rules Anya tells you the more you'll feel like she might actually be teaching you how to kiss.

She bites her lip, then scoots closer to you, but not close enough. The blanket is in your way. It's draped over your lap, and you wonder how eager you would look if you shrugged it off to bring your thighs closer together. Too eager, you guess. You leave it be, but scoot your own hips closer to hers. You’d be touching if the stupid cloth wasn’t in the way. 

"The second rule is get comfortable," she tells you, sweetly. "No point in kissing if you can't enjoy it."

"I'm comfortable," you tell her unconvincingly and steel your face as if you don't have a single problem with the blanket in your lap or your heart hammering in your chest. You should probably be able to lie better if you're going to be the persuasive force behind your people, are going to convince your soldiers to risk their lives for you in war, but on the other hand the Commander should value honesty, and you don't feel right not telling people the truth, especially not someone you’re as close to as Anya.

Unless you're lying about a blanket ticking you off in order to convince a girl to kiss you. A lie like that seems harmless enough.

Anya raises an eyebrow at you, confused. Apparently she's not as offended by the cloth around your knees as you are. She doesn’t seem to notice your struggle.

"The third rule?" you ask before she can question you further, because she's definitely going to if you give her enough time, and you don't know how to explain to her that you desperately want your thighs to be touching without going red in the face.

"You have to relax," Anya says curtly, answering you. "And I don't think that's something either of us are doing right now."

This time you're the one to raise your eyebrows. You know you're not keeping your cool, but Anya looks as calm as ever and you don't know what she means when she says she isn't relaxed.

"I'm just excited," you excuse, embarrassed to be admitting even that. As much as you'd like to think so, you're not convinced Anya is anxious for the same reason.

"I can tell," she teases.

When she avoids her explanation, you don't hesitate to ask. "Why are you nervous?"

She leans back slightly and looks up at the ceiling as she groans lightly. She stays that way for a minute, resting on the palm of her hands and gazing at the wall like she can see the stars through the leather of the tent. You wait patiently for her confession and when she whispers it to you, eyes closed and never leaving the ceiling, the last thing you are is disappointed. "Because I'm actually thinking about kissing you."

Your body is on edge, like a knife was swung too close to your chest, but you clench your fists around the blanket and try to stop your hands from shaking so Anya doesn’t notice. She’s still not looking at you, but you’re afraid she can feel it, can sense your nervousness like danger in the midst of a battle.

You’re quiet for too long and her eyes drift back down to you, gauging your reaction.

She waits for you to make the next move, her cocked eyebrow a challenge that makes you swallow the lump in your throat anxiously.

“You should,” you say boldly, then blink a few times and backtrack because it feels impolite to be so forward about it. “If you want to.”

Anya smiles kindly. “Fourth rule: Be confident.”

You nod once, curtly, before clearing your throat, and pressing further. “The fifth?”

Anya’s teeth grate her lips like a blacksmith’s wheel carves his sword. When she releases them, they’re redder, plumper, shining in the candlelight like a reservoir in moonlight. You’re so distracted by them that you barely catch her words. They come out slowly, creep into the space between you like shadows.

"If you're kissing your Commander, do it quick before anyone catches you."

Your reaction time is slowed because you're focused on your feelings rather than your thoughts, but you are just quick enough to hear what Anya says before she lurches forward and grabs your lips by surprise. 

You're pretty sure that it's against the rules of kissing to do that, to rush into it when someone isn't expecting it, but the two of you are already breaking all kinds of rules by being together in the first place, so you forget about rules for a moment because _you're kissing Anya_. 

You feel like your heart might burst the way it picks up, the way everything inside you picks up.

Her mouth is crooked, nose tilted to avoid knocking into yours, and it's nothing like the perfect kiss you've always imagined where your lips lock perfectly with those of whoever you're kissing. As her lips press sideways into yours the closeness is good enough to make you forget about the idea of 'perfect,’ the idea that this isn’t what you had planned.Whatever this is, messy or out of sync or imperfect as it may be, it’s better than anything you could’ve dreamed of, and you’re scared to find out if all kissing is this good or if Anya is just a really good kisser. Both thoughts are more than a little terrifying.

She lets off on the pressure for half a second, and you’re scared she’s going to pull away so soon, but then her lips readjust, press back into yours with slightly less force than they did the first time, and just because the second kiss is gentler doesn’t mean it’s any less breathtaking. 

You kiss back more confidently this time, better prepared and better expecting it, and you like to think that you’re catching on quickly. Anya hasn’t pushed you away yet, hasn’t stopped to tell you to do something differently, and that’s a good sign in your book. You’re scared to move much, scared to mess this up in any way, but for the few seconds Anya's lips are on yours you hold your breath and cherish the moment. 

Your heart slows down after a moment, but it continues to pound like a war drum in your ears for longer than you can keep beat.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but it's long enough to make you lightheaded. 

When Anya pulls away, it takes you a moment to recognize that it's over. It takes you a moment more to fully accept it.

You meet Anya's eyes and see nothing but adoration in them. 

She leans forward one last time and gives you a quick peck on the lips. 

You can't stop smiling.

“Was that what you hoped it would be?” she asks. 

You nod, if only to distract her from your grin. “Yes. Thank you.”

Anya laughs, then prods a finger into your chest. “Ok, another rule. Don’t ever tell a girl thank you after she kisses you. It’s weird. Plus, I didn’t do you a favor, got it? I kissed you because I wanted to, not just because you told me to.”

“You wanted to?” you ask.

She nods tentatively at first, then smiles wide and shrugs. “How many girls are able to say they were the Commander’s first kiss?”

Your pillow isn’t very far away. You could easily grab it and smack her with it for turning your first kiss into a reason for her to gloat, but you don’t. You’re above that. 

“If you’re going to be bragging about kissing me, I assume that means I was good at it?” you question instead.

Anya smirks for a moment, her pause teasing before she answers calmly. “You’re not bad, kid.”

It’s as much of a compliment as Anya’s ever given you. You’ll take it. 

“Neither are you,” you tell her, honestly.

“Oh, I know,” she boasts, adding a wink for emphasis. “I’m good at everything. How do you think I was able to train you well enough to become Commander?” You both laugh at her ego before she adds, “I’m taking credit for how good of a kisser you are, too. Make sure you tell every girl you’re ever with that you learned what you know from me.” 

You shake your head dismissively. “You’ve only kissed me once. That is hardly enough practice to make you responsible for my skills.” 

She looks at you skeptically, eyes narrowed like she wants to call your bluff but lips pursed because she knows you’re in the right. She scans your face for a moment, then leans forward again, puts her hand on your neck and kisses you once more. 

She’s there for a single heartbeat, barely enough time for you to even kiss back, and yet you still pull away with a gasp and shaky hands.

“Twice, actually,” Anya corrects triumphantly. 

She pulls her hand back and swipes her bottom lip dry with her thumb, and you can’t help but stare. You lick your own lips subconsciously, tasting her again, and you leave them wet because you can’t stand the thought of wiping her off of you just yet. You miss the way her lips feel against yours already, and you’re slightly unnerved by how addicting this whole kissing thing is. You’re not strong enough to give it up yet, though.

“Maybe a third time would be better.”

Anya smirks and leans forward even more confidently than before, but this time her lips meet your cheek instead of your mouth. “Not tonight,” she whispers close to your ear. “Maybe another time, Commander.”

You nod and let her pull away and you aren’t even that disappointed that she doesn’t kiss you again because this has already been a bigger night than you ever thought it would be. Anya kissed you. Anya implied that she might kiss you again. You really can’t ask for more than that, and when Anya leans back to her side of the bed, scoots over to give you some room, you’re just glad that she’s here and that you’ve had her in your life for as long as you have.

You hope she’s thinking the same thing.

“You should sleep, Commander,” she tells you purposefully. The deepness of her voice is assertive and you have no grounds to protest. You are tired, even if adrenaline has you less exhausted than you were when you first came back to your tent. Anya stands and you lie back on the furs comfortably.

“One last thing,” she tells you, looking down at you on the bed. “We might’ve kissed, but don’t get attached. It’s not anything more than that.”

“Attached? Me? To you? Never.” You scrunch your face as if the thought of Anya being yours disgusts you, and she shoots you a similar look in mock offense until you both burst out in laughter. 

When you both settle down, she backs away, edges closer to the tent’s flaps. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she says finally. “Goodnight, Lexa.”

“Goodnight, Anya.”

You pull the furs tight around you as she leaves, tug the blanket up beneath your chin until you’re settled enough that you may actually be able to fall asleep tonight.

The pulse in your ears drowns out the noise outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill at [skycrewclarke](http://skycrewclarke.tumblr.com/) if you want to hear all my feels about these two.


End file.
